


Kings Of The World

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Don't Ask, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Underage Relationship(s), a southern cassowary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your queen status has been revoked," he said. "We are now kings together."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kings Of The World

**Author's Note:**

> don't think too much about this one

“Aren’t I glad you don’t care what happens to me once I’m out of your house,” I told my parents as my backpack and I reached the door. It had been twenty minutes since they kicked me out, but I hadn’t let myself cry. Yet. I tried to make myself as biting as possible.

“Probably to your boyfriend’s,” my sister taunted. She was on my parents’ side about this, of course. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I put my hand to my temple. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said with a sigh. I was lying. It was a good lie; one that had rolled off my tongue so much it was truth everywhere except where he and I were alone.

“Suuure,” she said, smirking. I lifted my bag and slammed the door behind me.

I called Connor when I got to the street corner. “They finally did it,” I said quietly. “Kicked me out.”

I heard him drop something. A pen? A coffee cup? “I’m coming.”

Rubbing my neck, which was quite sore still from my father’s jarring slap to the face, I agreed. “And, it’s starting to rain.”

In five minutes he had arrived—hair messy, still in pyjamas, but there. He saw me and winced. Yeah, black eyes tend to have that effect. "Are you sure your parents don’t mind me staying for a few days?”

“Psh. My parents think you’re their second son. They don’t even realise that we’re dating, or that either of us are gay. Probably, you can stay with us until we graduate from college.”

I grinned, even as he, who was slightly shorter than me, let me lean against him as I got into his parents’ car. He had made it sound like we would be graduating college together, and it was a nice thought.

“And are you okay with me staying at your place? My toothbrush by your sink and all that shiz?”

Connor took his eyes off the road for just long enough to raise his eyebrows at me.

“Just checking.”

He cleaned my black eye when we got to his place, and didn’t explain to his parents, which I think perplexed them. “Thanks, Con,” I murmured when he let me sleep in his bed. I think he climbed in next to me, but I was already asleep and all I know is that I’m pretty sure I curled up into his side like the soppy idiot I am.

There was no Connor next to me when I woke up, which I missed because when we slept in the same bed, his head sat just below my nose, and usually I would be able to smell his shampoo, which is almond scented, in my sleep. I checked my phone, which I had been too busy to charge the night previous, and groaned when I noted the time—nearly 7. I ran my hand through my hair and sleepily made my way to the top of the stairs. “What’re you doing?”

“Coffee. I assume you want some?”

Even though I felt like seven layers of shit, I winked, saying, “Of course I do.”

Connor threw a plastic spoon at my head. He narrowly missed. “You’re mean,” I told him. “So mean and yes I’d love coffee.”

He rolled his eyes. “Coffee usually means you get out of bed, Troye.”

I laughed quietly.

Green eyes are surprisingly rare. Usually if someone has eyes that aren’t brown, they’re some bizarre mixture of blue, green, gray, and sometimes hazel. Connor’s eyes, though, in the soft orange light of sunrise, were so unbelievably green that I could not take it. “You’re beautiful,” I blurted out before I knew my mouth had opened. Beautiful isn’t a word you’re supposed to use for blokes, is it? But it was the word that flooded my head when I looked at him. Beautiful. Beautiful.

Connor blushed. A thing you, the Reader, must know about Connor is that he’s a blusher. And a cuddler, but mostly a blusher. “Thanks,” he said softly.

I sat across from Connor with our coffee. He leaned over and traced my bruised jaw, and I don’t know when I got so pathetic, but I think I purred just a little. “We’ll figure it out,” he assured me, and even though it sounded hollow to my own ears, I tried to believe him.

Needless to say, we didn’t go to school that day. I wondered what my parents would say if the school called them, but I felt like that wasn’t my problem. When Connor’s mom got home from work at 3, she nearly had a heart attack. I didn’t really blame her; we were in sweatpants, curled up on the couch watching American Idol (ironically) and I had bruises on my face and arms. “Troye?”

I almost think it would have been less weird if I was a girl. If you walk in on your son on your couch cuddling with his girlfriend while watching a “girly” show, well, whatever, you know your kid’s whipped and you’ll either be helping him through a breakup soon or inviting the girl to all family gatherings until you die, even if you hate her; you can also tell her your son’s most embarrassing stories because hey, girl talk!

On the other hand, if the girl that your son is cuddling with is replaced with a 5’9 boy with a girly haircut, you might start to freak out.

“Connor, what’s…” she said.

So original, Boyfriend’s Mom.

I grinned and waved to her, and she put her purse down hesitantly, as if she would need to get her phone out soon to call the police. “My parents smacked me around a little and kicked me out of the house yesterday. I promise not to eat too much of your food.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Do we need to get those bruises checked out?”

“Nah,” Connor cut in. “I cleaned it up, and we can worry about police some other day.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “For now, I’m pretty sure the chick is going to win. She’s cute, you know,” I replied.

“I don’t see it,” Connor said.

Connor’s mom just kind of…left us alone after that. It was a good feeling. “You neeeeeed to have a shower,” I whispered into his hair.

He groaned. “But What Not To Wear is on next.”

“We’ve seen this episode before. If you take a shower, can I join you?”

“You dirty little fucker. Of course.”

We watched the episode of What Not To Wear, though. There was just too much good commentary we could make. “That skirt needs to burn in hell,” for instance. Or, “I literally would not birth my child onto that jacket.”

My messed up head just said, “Are you implying that you will have naturally birthed children one day? Because…well, I have a vagina, so that’s actually kind of likely.”

“Now, are you implying that I’m not going to dump you after this?” he teased.

It hit a little close to be home, and he heard my lack of laughter and craned his neck to look me in the eye. “Oh,” he said, nearly inaudible. “Sorry.”

“No,” I said, but I shifted so that he had to turn around to look back at the TV.

He resisted that shit and looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Tro. I’m not about to dump you, I promise.”

I didn’t look Connor back in the eye. Like a complete reject, he wrapped his freakishly skinny arm around my neck and kissed my cheek. “Your queen status has been revoked,” he said. “We are now kings together.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “We still need to take a shower, though.”

“What’s my motivation?”

“It’s a widely known fact that I am the only motivation to shower you will ever need, so there, my angel.”

“When did you start calling me ‘angel’?”

“What, would you prefer me calling you sweet pea? Or, like, delightful dove?”

“Well, let’s play spot the lie right there—if I were a bird, I’d definitely be”—

“A southern cassowary, I know.”

“But, but Troye, they have a nail on their toes that can literally cut a bitch!”

“Not just cut a bitch, Connor. They can cut arms off and disembowel a human.”

“I know, right? They’re like miniature ostriches.”

“Uh, any kind of bird can be a miniature ostrich if they try hard enough.”

“But seriously Troye boy. Are we getting in the shower or what?”

“We could just get on a boat for New Guinea, where your southern cassowaries live.”

“My cassowaries?”

“Yes, yours. I’ll buy you one for your birthday if you ask nicely.”

“Thanks, friend.”

I pushed Connor out of the couch, and then held my hands up for him to lift. He laughed and hauled me to my feet. We steadied each other and marched up the stairs laughing, passing and waving to his mom. She must think her son and his boyfriend are some weird shit. I’m okay with that.

After our shower, which involved many things I’m sure would be an invasion of my privacy to tell you, Connor and I sat on his bed talking. We did that a lot, I find. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of talking to Connor, because he’ll listen for a long time while I rant about something, and then say something really intelligent and witty out of nowhere. Every time he opens his mouth, I learn something new about him, and it’s pretty much the best thing ever.

We were going downstairs to pour soda. I wanted Coke, Connor wanted Sprite. Suddenly, their front door opened and the sounds of my mom and dad shuffling as Connor’s mom greeted them echoed up to us, and we both froze but listened closely.

“Is Carlotta here?” My mother asked briskly.

I flinched at my former name. “The bitches,” I told Connor. “They didn’t even wait a day.”

“It’s okay, Troye,” he said, squeezing my hand.

“And we haven’t even talked to your mom about this, so she’ll probably say I’m upstairs…”

Connor put his finger over my lips. “Shh,” he said to further his point.

His mom was talking really quietly, but I strained my ears to listen. “What’s this about?”

“She stormed out last night,” my dad replied. “Just another teenage tantrums, you know how they are.” He tried to smooth over the situation, but Connor’s mom was apparently not buying it.

“He had bruises all over him, were those inflicted by you?”

My mother gasped. “You accuse us of abusing our daughter?”

“No. I’m accusing you of abusing your son.”

Connor and I collectively lost our shit. I dragged him back to his room and kissed him once, hard, before bursting into tears. “I’ll go get some water,” he said, and made a beeline out of there, shaking like he was yanked out of real life and onto the Disney Channel.

“I love you,” I said, blubbering uncontrollably when he got back. “You’re an idiot but you could have kicked me out too and I love your mom and I love you.”

“Your parents left,” he said quietly. “I don’t think they’ll be coming back.”

“What did your mom say?”

“You can stay over for as long as you need.”

“Is she okay with us dating?”

“Well, she knows that you’re harmless”—

“Are you sure harmless is the right word to use to describe me?”

“Fine. You, Troye, are mostly harmless.”

“Thanks.”

“She knows that you’re the most harmless someone with an unhealthy obsession with Finding Nemo can be.”

“That’s unfair, Connor. The little kid terrorized the poor fish!”

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to know that it sounds like we’ll be watching that tonight. Again.”

“That wasn’t the original idea, but can we?”

Connor groaned and flopped face-first onto his bed. “We can’t skip school again, though.”

“Don’t you love me?” I said, pouting. I climbed up next to him, burying my nose into the base of his neck.

“That’s debatable,” he said into his pillow.

I picked up the pillow from under his head and smacked him with it.

“Rude,” he said, and wrestled the pillow from my hands. “But yeah, I’m pretty sure I love you.”

“How could you not, though?” I mused.

“Well, you steal my pillows, so…”


End file.
